The most wonderful dog in the world, my sweet Pancake, got the happiest surprise of her life yesterday, courtesy of the much-loved and recently-departed Bichon of my friends Vivian and Steve (you know Viv & Steve. She hoodwinked her hubby into seeing “No Strings Attached” a few weeks ago. Last weekend they went to see “Just Go With it,” with Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston. “Steve loved it! reported Viv. “He roared!”).
Anyway, they were nice enough to drop off what I thought would be a toy or two for Pancake. Instead, they brought a wicker bed, a lounging blanket, doggie shampoo, canine toothpaste, 4 coats (including a pink corduroy number I’d wear if only the sleeves were in different places) and toys, toys, toys.
I have no idea how she knew, but as soon as that bed was unloaded onto the sidewalk, Pancake hopped right into it. Of course, she never uses the one on the floor of our bedroom – why should she, when she gets to wedge herself between Himself and me in our bed so that no one gets any rest and we are right there for any nocturnal eliminations that require her being lifted on and off the bed as many as three times a night?
Anyway, she didn’t bother peeing outside, instead charging back upstairs where she proceeded to do a careful, specific inventory of each toy that she can now joyfully and yapfully call her own. We have a big poultry category now, featuring turkeys whose wattles unroll when you step on the body, and chickens that make a very loud (yet un-clucky) noise when you bite them (not me, Pancake) and that’s just for starters.
Himself and I found ourselves living in a new kind of barn last night, as Pancake tried to take as many toys as she could onto the bed with her so she could play them like she was a one-dog band. As I wrested one of her chickadees out of her mouth for the night, I thought to myself, “Pancake is one lucky girl.”